Hands of God

Babu, eitai to amago kaaz, joddin bachum, eitai korum. Amra murtir buke perek mari r apnara punni kaman…’ (Sir, this is our work and we shall do this as long as we live. We push nails on the deity’s chest and you get all her blessings).

With layers of mud melting with colours as myths come alive one more time, the elderly artisan squints through his old, heavy glasses to measure the paint’s balance of the deity’s eyes. He nods in satisfaction, happy with the outcome and comes down from his scaffold, clad in a dirty loincloth dotted with colours, bending his frail, skeletal body into a quavering arch, forming an ineffable silhouette.

As lonely wicker burns bright, illuminating the tumbledown bamboo workshop, deft hands give finishing touches to the face of Goddess Durga.

The idol is coming out well. But a scorn on his face remains. It’s not new for him, and his ilk, to be trapped in the never-ending cycle of unpaid loans and unrealised remuneration, it’s not new that they fight the rising prices and falling demands, it’s not new that they are emigrating and leaving the profession or the growing disinterest of the younger generation in the craft of making idols is haunting them big time. “We have been doing this for years. And we shall continue to do this as long as we live. But the irony is, we do all the hard work and people like you (those who worship the goddess) get her blessings. We are here to only hammer nails on her body so that her sari is in place, her ornaments don’t come off and her weaponry is in order,” he says.

The scorn is perhaps because, after decades of toil, he has not been able to understand the correlation between creating the goddess and constant penury.

The dingy lanes are a sharp contrast to the silken strip of the river that flows by Kumartuli, the North Kolkata hub that produces amazing clay idols that India and the rest of the world worship during Durga Puja. It is God’s work that they do; it is sacred and revered with most idol makers not even eating meat or drinking alcohol while making the ‘thakurs’ (idols).

Apart from the spiritual undercurrent, there are many traditions and rituals associated with Durga Puja that are beyond logic and explanation. One of them, and a very important one, is the practice of using soil from outside a prostitute’s house, known as ‘Nishiddho Palli’, to make the Durga idol.

It is believed that the soil from outside a sex worker’s home is considered holy and that is why the priest has to go to the doorstep of a brothel and beg for the mud for the deity’s idol. The prostitute then hands over the mud while the priest chants ‘mantras’.

Another reason is that ‘punya maati’ is considered to be pure. It is believed that when a man enters a sex worker’s house, he leaves behind his virtue and purity outside making the soil at the doorstep pure. Some others believe that this custom was started to include prostitutes in the festivities of Durga Puja while still others believe in the theory propounded by the Vedas that nine classes of women, known as ‘Navkanyas’, are to be worshipped during Durga Puja. The festival is considered to be incomplete if these women are not honoured during the celebrations. Also, there are those who believe that including the soil from brothels purifies the prostitutes in the process.

Apart from the cultural perspective, Durga Puja involves inclusivity and is all-embracing in more than one manner. From Muslims heading committees to assisting in the rituals to all women’s teams conducting the Puja itself, the festival showcases everyday harmony and compatibility.

From clumps of clay to the embodiment of supreme consciousness — the festival marks the participation of one and all, including the marginalised sections of society. The grandeur, resplendence and cultural ostentation epitomise a blend of the haves and the have-nots, blurring lines that divide them.

Ironically, who would have recognised the works of these thousands of artisans if Durga Puja wasn’t as large and grand as it is? The work of the idol makers which otherwise may not have seen the light of day or may have gone unnoticed or unutilised are hailed as breathtaking and awe-inspiring creations year after year.

From broken pavements and rutted roads spring the most amazing temporary temples known to man, made from every conceivable (often recycled) material under the blazing Kolkata sun. Struggles galore but these artisans continue to sell God for a livelihood. Whether it is just for art’s sake that they stomp the clay and straw into a fine churn to make the images or to earn a living is a difficult question to answer and perhaps that’s why their plight is not often talked about. Nobody even asks whether women idol makers like China, Kakoli or Maya had dreams of their own or want the next generation to pursue idol-making. Nobody wants to know how these individuals fare the rest of the year.

But the clay images of the goddess and her family that these sublime craftsmen make are wonders to behold for their artistry and individuality. Thousands of these pandals and images are created every year, each one like no other; unique and stunning. Every one of them is worth visiting and Bengalis from far and wide flock to the marvel that is Kolkata at Puja time. A delirium that follows for a week or so witnesses not just merrymaking but a wealth of art, culture, literature and history on display, with a penchant to embrace the new and honour the old.

The fabulous, ingenious, shimmering story-telling lights, which draw massive throngs, hide the tears of turbulence in the eyes of the creator who finds pleasure in producing something new. With the face of the goddess slowly coming alive, Durga takes over. When she leaves the makers’ doorstep, their spirits soar amid the mundane, waiting for the old structures to return to this underbelly for a revamp, clutching on to the happiness of life from the excitement of creation, waiting for the vicious cycle to take its own course.